he era of clear dividing lines between nuclear energy and nuclear weapons is over for good. The war in Ukraine has demonstrated that nuclear power plants are not only vulnerable but could become strategically central to military operations. The repeated shelling and occupation of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant by Russian forces have blurred the line between civilian infrastructure and military targets. Similarly, recent strikes on nuclear–related sites in Iran underscore a broader shift. Radiation risk is no longer confined to accidental nuclear catastrophes such as Chernobyl or Fukushima; it now extends to the deliberate targeting of nuclear infrastructure as a means of geopolitical coercion. What once seemed unthinkable has become reality.
And yet, at this pivotal moment, Greece turns to small modular nuclear reactors as part of its energy future while aligning itself more closely with France’s nuclear defense umbrella. “Please consider Greece to be a friend of nuclear energy,” Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis declared at the 2nd Nuclear Energy Summit in Paris in March 2026. A similar commitment to introducing a nuclear program in Greece was expressed by the prime minister already in June 2025, at the Energy Transition Summit: East Med & Southeast Europe, organized by the Financial Times in cooperation with the Greek newspaper Kathimerini. In the meanwhile, for the first time in its history, the Greek government is in the process of setting up a ministerial committee on the development of small modular reactors to contribute to the country's energy mix.
Greece’s nuclear turn is not the result of attractive technological solutions such as the development of the small modular reactors, but changes in perception. Across Europe, nuclear energy is being rebranded as a sustainable solution to climate change and energy insecurity. France, in particular, has positioned itself as both a nuclear energy leader and a guarantor of extended deterrence. This narrative of sustainability rests on a selective reading of the nuclear lifecycle, which ignores how uranium is extracted, by whom, and under what conditions. Found in regions marked by histories of colonial extraction, environmental degradation, and unequal exposure to risk, uranium—the fuel behind most reactors, including small modular ones—remains embedded in these enduring asymmetries.
Greece’s current turn to nuclear energy does not emerge in a historical vacuum but echoes an earlier, albeit unfinished, nuclear ambition. From the early 1950s, Greece sought to enter the nuclear age primarily through scientific research. Queen Frederica, the spouse of King Paul of Greece, played a key role, promoting research, contributing to the establishment of the country’s only nuclear center, “Demokritos,” and encouraging leading scientists to return from the United States to support Greece’s participation in President Dwight Eisenhower’s “Atoms for Peace” program. Greece’s involvement in the creation of CERN in 1954, and the founding of the IAEA three years later, placed the country on the emerging global map of nuclear governance. The royal ambition, combined with dependence on U.S. support through the Marshall Plan, shaped the country’s vision of progress, tied to western technological development. Yet, nuclear energy never became a viable option for Greece.
Throughout the Cold War, even as Greece operated under NATO’s nuclear umbrella and hosted U.S. warheads at Araxos Air Base in Peloponnese, it resisted the development of domestic nuclear power. This was more a political choice than a technological failure. The country’s seismic landscape made the risks of nuclear infrastructure difficult to ignore, while a strong anti–nuclear movement, intensified after the Chernobyl disaster, cemented public opposition.
For years, the country maintained only a limited but active role in nuclear science. The Greek Atomic Energy Commission, established also with royal support and through Queen Frederica’s connections to the Eisenhower administration in the early 1950s, developed legislation for radiation protection and reinforced its commitment to non–proliferation as one of IAEA’s member states. This early nuclear position emerged at a time when the boundary between civilian and military nuclear programs was being codified internationally.
In 1970 the Treaty on the Non–Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) formalized a global order in which nuclear weapons and nuclear energy were treated as distinct domains. Civilian nuclear power plants were framed as instruments of development and peaceful uses of the atom separate from national defense strategies. Legal frameworks such as Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions of 1949, which was adopted in 1977, reinforced this distinction, seeking to protect nuclear power installations from direct military attacks. Together, these agreements helped sustain the belief that the peaceful atom could remain insulated from war conflicts.
Ironically, as the strong red line the IAEA sought to establish through the NPT continues to erode, Greece frames abandoning nuclear energy as one of Europe’s “biggest strategic mistakes.” Long wary of nuclear risk, the country is reconsidering its stance just as those risks are becoming more acute. Small modular reactors may promise flexibility and lower costs, but they do not remove the fundamental vulnerability of nuclear infrastructure or its entanglement with strategic security in a region marked by persistent tensions and military brinkmanship with Turkey.
Embracing nuclear energy today is not simply about diversifying supply; it is a step into a landscape where energy policy is inseparable from national security, geopolitical conflict, and the impacts of green capitalism. Greece is not returning to a Cold War–era debate considering its nuclear choices, but is entering a far more volatile era entirely. What once appeared to be a stable boundary between civilian and military nuclear domains, long upheld by the IAEA, is breaking down, and with it the illusion that nuclear risk can be contained.
a global affairs media network
Greece’s nuclear turn in an age of war
Image by rescriptt rescriptt via Pexels.com.
April 28, 2026
Greece's turn to nuclear energy comes as war dissolves the line between civilian power and military target, writes Prof. Maria Rentetzi.
T
he era of clear dividing lines between nuclear energy and nuclear weapons is over for good. The war in Ukraine has demonstrated that nuclear power plants are not only vulnerable but could become strategically central to military operations. The repeated shelling and occupation of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant by Russian forces have blurred the line between civilian infrastructure and military targets. Similarly, recent strikes on nuclear–related sites in Iran underscore a broader shift. Radiation risk is no longer confined to accidental nuclear catastrophes such as Chernobyl or Fukushima; it now extends to the deliberate targeting of nuclear infrastructure as a means of geopolitical coercion. What once seemed unthinkable has become reality.
And yet, at this pivotal moment, Greece turns to small modular nuclear reactors as part of its energy future while aligning itself more closely with France’s nuclear defense umbrella. “Please consider Greece to be a friend of nuclear energy,” Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis declared at the 2nd Nuclear Energy Summit in Paris in March 2026. A similar commitment to introducing a nuclear program in Greece was expressed by the prime minister already in June 2025, at the Energy Transition Summit: East Med & Southeast Europe, organized by the Financial Times in cooperation with the Greek newspaper Kathimerini. In the meanwhile, for the first time in its history, the Greek government is in the process of setting up a ministerial committee on the development of small modular reactors to contribute to the country's energy mix.
Greece’s nuclear turn is not the result of attractive technological solutions such as the development of the small modular reactors, but changes in perception. Across Europe, nuclear energy is being rebranded as a sustainable solution to climate change and energy insecurity. France, in particular, has positioned itself as both a nuclear energy leader and a guarantor of extended deterrence. This narrative of sustainability rests on a selective reading of the nuclear lifecycle, which ignores how uranium is extracted, by whom, and under what conditions. Found in regions marked by histories of colonial extraction, environmental degradation, and unequal exposure to risk, uranium—the fuel behind most reactors, including small modular ones—remains embedded in these enduring asymmetries.
Greece’s current turn to nuclear energy does not emerge in a historical vacuum but echoes an earlier, albeit unfinished, nuclear ambition. From the early 1950s, Greece sought to enter the nuclear age primarily through scientific research. Queen Frederica, the spouse of King Paul of Greece, played a key role, promoting research, contributing to the establishment of the country’s only nuclear center, “Demokritos,” and encouraging leading scientists to return from the United States to support Greece’s participation in President Dwight Eisenhower’s “Atoms for Peace” program. Greece’s involvement in the creation of CERN in 1954, and the founding of the IAEA three years later, placed the country on the emerging global map of nuclear governance. The royal ambition, combined with dependence on U.S. support through the Marshall Plan, shaped the country’s vision of progress, tied to western technological development. Yet, nuclear energy never became a viable option for Greece.
Throughout the Cold War, even as Greece operated under NATO’s nuclear umbrella and hosted U.S. warheads at Araxos Air Base in Peloponnese, it resisted the development of domestic nuclear power. This was more a political choice than a technological failure. The country’s seismic landscape made the risks of nuclear infrastructure difficult to ignore, while a strong anti–nuclear movement, intensified after the Chernobyl disaster, cemented public opposition.
For years, the country maintained only a limited but active role in nuclear science. The Greek Atomic Energy Commission, established also with royal support and through Queen Frederica’s connections to the Eisenhower administration in the early 1950s, developed legislation for radiation protection and reinforced its commitment to non–proliferation as one of IAEA’s member states. This early nuclear position emerged at a time when the boundary between civilian and military nuclear programs was being codified internationally.
In 1970 the Treaty on the Non–Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) formalized a global order in which nuclear weapons and nuclear energy were treated as distinct domains. Civilian nuclear power plants were framed as instruments of development and peaceful uses of the atom separate from national defense strategies. Legal frameworks such as Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions of 1949, which was adopted in 1977, reinforced this distinction, seeking to protect nuclear power installations from direct military attacks. Together, these agreements helped sustain the belief that the peaceful atom could remain insulated from war conflicts.
Ironically, as the strong red line the IAEA sought to establish through the NPT continues to erode, Greece frames abandoning nuclear energy as one of Europe’s “biggest strategic mistakes.” Long wary of nuclear risk, the country is reconsidering its stance just as those risks are becoming more acute. Small modular reactors may promise flexibility and lower costs, but they do not remove the fundamental vulnerability of nuclear infrastructure or its entanglement with strategic security in a region marked by persistent tensions and military brinkmanship with Turkey.
Embracing nuclear energy today is not simply about diversifying supply; it is a step into a landscape where energy policy is inseparable from national security, geopolitical conflict, and the impacts of green capitalism. Greece is not returning to a Cold War–era debate considering its nuclear choices, but is entering a far more volatile era entirely. What once appeared to be a stable boundary between civilian and military nuclear domains, long upheld by the IAEA, is breaking down, and with it the illusion that nuclear risk can be contained.
